


What They'd Do

by out_there



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-08
Updated: 2005-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I always knew the day would come when Sam would start selling off entire states, I was just hoping he'd start with Delaware."</i> Josh Lyman - Enemies</p>
            </blockquote>





	What They'd Do

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the first campaign.

_"I always knew the day would come when Sam would start selling off entire states, I was just hoping he'd start with Delaware."_  
Josh Lyman - Enemies

It had become a running joke amongst them. It wasn't incredibly amusing, but between traveling, writing, dealing with reporters and all the other mundane tasks of campaigning, they needed something to laugh about. 'Bartlett for America' was a great concept, but it was hard work convincing the rest of America.

So, it had started after... Sam would say it was just after Carolina, but Josh said it was much later, and Toby said it was before that. CJ couldn't remember, and didn't really care, so they'd just decided that it had started A While Ago, and left it at that.

So, A While Ago, they had been tired (exhausted, really), and had gone for drinks. Since they can't agree on just when this happened, nobody's sure if they were celebrating or commiserating, but either way, they'd decided drinking was a good solution.

They'd got to that stage when everyone was just drunk enough that the floor wouldn't quite stay even, and Toby had brought up the prospect of just how long the campaign had to go.

"We've barely started." Toby was playing his cardboard coaster, slowly ripping it into pieces.

"Started what?" CJ was leaning forward, concentrating very hard on lifting up her glass without spilling it, and she still looked glamorous. As if all she needed was five minutes and a quick brief, and she'd be ready to handle the next throng of reporters. As long as she wasn't required to stand.

"This. Everything." Toby gestured vaguely at the table. "The whole campaign."

Josh blinked at Toby, then took another swallow of (Scotch? Bourbon? Sam's not sure) something, and said, "Well, yeah. It's gonna take a while, Toby."

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Sam added, and Toby shot him a dark look. "What? Now I can't even use cliches verbally?"

"No. You're banned from cliches altogether, Sam."

Josh sniggered at Toby's reply, then asked, "So you don't want to be doing this? Or you just wish it wasn't taking this long?"

Toby shrugged.

"That's not an answer, Toby. Answers require words. You know, the things you and Sam play around with all day?" CJ said with a smirk.

"Neither. Both. Pick one, and there's your answer."

"Really, that's not much of an answer either, Toby." Sam felt obliged to point it out. "And we don't 'play around' with words, we write speeches. There's a big difference."

CJ could handle sticky questions from reporters. She knew how to defend her comments, regardless of how much she'd had to drink. "You write words down, cut and paste, move them around and try to stick them where they fit. To me, it sounds very similar to kids with a jigsaw puzzle. Hence, playing."

"Back to the topic--" Josh started, but was interrupted by a combination of "What topic?" and "There was a topic?" from CJ and Toby, respectively.

"It's not playing..." Sam just got a disbelieving look from Toby, and an unimpressed one from Josh.

Toby placed his empty glass on the table. "Give up, Sam. She's beaten you."

"Listen to your boss, Sam," CJ said with an air of smugness.

"As I was saying, what happened to the topic involving..." Josh made a vague hand gesture, "Time and campaigning and stuff? What did you want Toby?"

Toby didn't look inclined to answer, but CJ answered for him. "I don't care what he wants. I just want this to be over."

"No more early starts and late finishes," Sam suggested, raising his glass in a toast.

"No more constant questions. No more reporters," CJ continued. Their glasses made a brittle clink as they tapped them together.

"You do both know that you'll still have to do those things after we win, right?"

CJ looked at Josh seriously. "Thank you, Josh. I'd been living under a rock all my life and hadn't, in fact, realized that."

Sam laughed.

Toby only raised an eyebrow at the indignant expression on Josh's face. "Yeah, but at least we won't be traveling all the time. We'll have permanent offices. Desks. Doors that we can close."

Josh swirled the last inch of his drink in his glass, and sighed.

"Why the sigh?" Sam asked, ignoring his own empty glass to pull at his loosened tie, and undo another shirt button.

"Its a nice thought," Josh said, raising his glass.

"But?"

"But," Josh paused for another swallow, "You realize how much work it's going to take to get there, right? We've barely started."

Toby stated, "You're repeating me," and emptied his glass.

"Yeah, well, it's a good point, Toby."

Toby nodded. "I'm not disagreeing. Just pointing out your lack of originality."

"Original or not, it's true," CJ offered. "What I wouldn't give to have won already."

"More importantly, what would you give?" Josh asked, with a flash of dimples.

"Is there any way you could make that sound more sleazy, Josh?"

"Not without trying really hard," Josh said, and gestured to the waitress to bring over another round of drinks.

Somehow, a round and a half later, they had started to list exactly what they would give up. Josh had offered his NY Mets memorabilia (or assorted junk, as Toby had phrased it) and CJ had beaten him with a promise of her first born child.

"Good try, but I can beat it," Toby announced smugly into his glass.

"How can you beat it? What could possibly be more precious than CJ Jnr?" CJ's voice was equal parts interest and disbelief.

"CJ Jnr?" Sam queried, and Josh chortled.

"I was trying to be inspecific...unspecific...to not specify the gender."

"Yeah, because CJ could be Christine Joanne, or... Help me out here?" Sam looked to Toby, but Josh was the one to answer.

"Or... Calvin John."

"Calvin?" Now CJ's voice was just pure disbelief. "You think I'd name my son Calvin?"

Josh shrugged and looked to Toby. "So, how can beat her?"

"My pay. If we were declared the winners tomorrow, I'd go without pay."

"Care to explain your reasoning as to how that is more valuable than my child?"

"It's simple," Toby said and counted out on his fingers. "Firstly, there's an obvious monetary value. How much can you sell a kid for these days? Secondly, there's an immediate value to the administration."

"Meaning?" CJ asked raising her glass.

Josh jumped in, explaining, "We know that we'll definitely save money through Toby's idea. We have to trust that not only will you give us little CJ Jnr, but also that you'll actually decide to have him-"

"Or her," Sam interrupted.

"Yeah, him or her, in the first place. It'd be easier for you to weasel your way out of the arrangement." Josh stretches his arms above him in a silent sign of victory.

CJ nodded her head, and turned to Sam, "Okay, your turn."

"I'm thinking." Sam reached over and picked up a handful of the nuts that had been brought to the table with the last round of drinks.

"C'mon Sam," Josh added.

"Alternatively, you can just admit defeat now and save yourself the humiliation," Toby suggested and picked up his glass.

"Well, I'm not giving up a child," Sam said, looking at CJ. "Or my income or possessions."

"That's no fun." Josh almost pouted.

"I think we should sell a state." Sam reached for more nuts and chewed them as the others thought it over.

Josh sat up straight. "You can't just sell a state."

"Why not, Josh? We used to. We bought Louisiana from the French, we could just sell it back to them."

Toby objected, "Not Louisiana."

"Why not?" Now CJ was curious.

"Mardi Gras."

"Ah, but we're not doing well in the South anyway. We might as well sell off one of those states," CJ replied.

"If they're not going to vote us in, they don't need to be part of our United States," Sam justified. "You have to admit that being president of forty-nine states is still very impressive."

Josh shrugged. "Yeah. And it would help the budget. Could lower international debt. Reduce national costs."

CJ looked around at the others. "So, it's decided. Sam's idea is the best."

"Maybe we should suggest it to Bartlett?" Josh asked.

"Not tonight," Sam said, yawning.

Toby finished his drink. "If we wake up tomorrow and get handed the presidency, you realize how hard it's going to be trying to sell an entire state?"

"Yeah, but at the moment," Josh said, standing up and swaying, "I'm thinking about how hard it's going to be to get back up to my room."

Somehow, between the three of them, they managed to drag Josh upstairs, back to his hotel room. The next morning three of them wore sunglasses to breakfast, and Toby had smugly passed them painkillers.

It had been almost a week before someone mentioned the idea again. It was just after one of Bartlett's speeches had gone particularly well and they had headed back to the hotel.

Josh had commented to the others, "Well, that's one state that we're definitely not selling."

CJ nodded, then looked sideways at Josh. "What about Texas?"

"Too much oil," Toby answered.

"And big hats," Sam added as Leo raised an eyebrow at them.

"Do I want to know what you four are smirking about?"

"No, Leo."

"Inside joke," Sam had offered.

"As long as the Governor doesn't ask me why his staffers care about big hats, I'm happy." Leo raised his hands in defeat and walked inside the hotel with Bartlett.

As they walked back inside, Toby turned to Josh, saying, "The thing in Wilmington won't go well."

"Yeah," Josh shrugged, "But there's not much we can do."

Sam nodded bleakly, then brightened. "Then at the moment, Delaware is top on our list of potential states for sale."

Somehow, after that, it had become a running joke between them. If a state went well, they agreed not to sell it. If it didn't go well, it was added to the list. Occasionally, when the four of them got together to celebrate a victory or commiserate over a loss, they debated over the current order of the list. Waking up the next morning, they found pockets full of rumpled bar napkins, decorated with scribbled state names, and sometimes bearing their motto, their shibboleth, 'Bartlett for America'.


End file.
